


Weights

by professortennant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x03, Angst, Gen, M/M, my guess for 9x04, post ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In black and red ink, he gets weights and anchors wrapped around his ankles and wrists so he never forgets the burden he is. So he never forgets that he is not as important as he thought he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weights

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I am enraged at last night's turn of events and I have a fluffy fix-it but I also like angst so here we are. More headcanons from me (bc I rarely post things here, I should change that) at professortennant.tumblr.com (PROFESSOR2SPOOKY FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON!)

"You can’t stay here, buddy.”

Castiel was expecting those words, though perhaps not so soon. Still, he had dutifully wrapped his burrito, “May I finish my burrito before I leave?”

Dean had flinched and nodded, already speaking of getting him set up and sending money and staying in touch but Castiel held up a hand.

"Dean, I can find my own way. You’re right. I am a liability. It’s better if—It’s safer if we cut off all contact.”

And with that, he had tucked the half-eaten burrito into his pocket and found his way back up the stairs into the small room next to Dean’s which he had claimed for himself. He found a small duffel bag and packed away flannel shirts and toothpaste and deodorant and a fleece jacket that had been hanging in the back of his closet.

Castiel let his fingers drift along the edges of the smooth wooden desk and the memory foam which would have remembered him and the brass doorknob and tried not to think about how he could have lived in this place. How he could have filled it with books and homemade kites and journals and paintings and other things that he would like.

The lost future tastes bitter in his mouth and the coldness in his chest seems to be seeping into the rest of his body—into his bones and muscles and tendons, weighing him down…

Even more bitter is the taste of Dean’s words in the past—family is better together, don’t run from me, I need you, please. 

It was just that though—words. Dean does not truly believe them, else Castiel would not be packing his bags. Bag.

His eyes prickle uncomfortably and for a second, he thinks he’s going blind until he remembers that humans cry. That this is normal. 

Well, he won’t let Dean see him like this. He takes a deep breath and slings the duffel over his shoulder and walks to the entrance of the bunker where Dean is waiting, hunched over with his hands in his pockets.

He looks up as Cas enters the room and Cas is surprised to see Dean looking so upset. This was his decision, not Castiel’s. 

And then he’s angry, truly angry. Dean doesn’t get to be sad, Castiel gets to be sad. At least Dean still has Sam. Cas has no one and nothing.

He clenches his jaw and hikes the bag higher up on his shoulder. He wants to storm out without a word, he wants to wallow in his misery and get drunk and maybe try one of those rolled cigarettes that the woman on the bus said would make him forget.

But he loves Dean.

So instead, he walks up to him and places his hand on his cheek, tilting Dean’s face up. 

"Be safe, Dean. Goodbye."

He presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead (and he will remember this kiss with Dean’s skin warm beneath his lips).

And while Dean is flabbergasted and digging around for a few bills to give Cas and muttering apologies and wishes that things were different, Cas leaves.

In a few cities over after hitchhiking and walking and scrounging up spare change, he gets a tattoo. 

In black and red ink, he gets weights and anchors wrapped around his ankles and wrists so he never forgets the burden he is. So he never forgets that he is not as important as he thought he was.


End file.
